The Middle of Nowhere
by Scealai
Summary: Sam and Dean have to work through their issues with each other when an overnight stay at a mysterious truck stop motel forces them to confront their deepest fears and maybe split the brothers up for good.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Scealai  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Asylum'  
Summary: Sam and Dean have to work through their issues with each other when an overnight stay at a mysterious truck stop motel forces them to confront their deepest fears and maybe split the brothers up for good.  
Disclaimer: The characters for 'Supernatural' were created by Eric Kripke and belong to Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland, and the WB.

Part One

His brother was an ass. A stubborn, macho ass that never listened. Sam shot a glare at said brother from the corner of his eye. After they had left the Roosevelt Asylum, Dean had driven as far away from the place as his injuries would allow and then stopped at the nearest motel where he had slept for the next twelve hours. Sam had spent that time in guilty silence, following his brother's lead without protest. Dean hadn't wanted to talk about what had happened and since Sam had been the one who had tried to kill him, he had respected his older brother's wishes. But when his pigheaded brother had woken up, he had insisted that they leave immediately. Sam had spoken up then - arguing that Dean was in no condition to drive. Dean had just stared at him and told him to pack up before disappearing into the shower.

That had been two days ago. Two days and they were still living in tense silence. Sam had tried to get them back on track by asking where they were going next and what the job was when they had stopped briefly for the night at some other nondescript motel, but Dean had just shrugged and offered a noncommittal grunt as an answer before sacking out on the other bed. Sam was pretty sure that Dean had no idea where the hell they were going and that there was no job. He was just driving so he wouldn't have to deal with Sam and what he had done. Sam was tempted to smack his brother upside the head for being a stupid idiot, but he had done enough damage already. Dean was hurting. Sam could tell by the way he gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, matching the paleness of his face. Sam winced. This was his fault and it was about time that he did something to fix it. He reached out and shut off the blaring metal music thrumming from the car radio.

"You've been driving for almost sixteen hours, Dean. We're stopping at the next motel." Sam stared at his brother, daring him to argue.

"Fine." Dean shrugged. His eyes stayed trained on the road and suddenly Sam wanted to scream at him. He wanted shake Dean and yell and throw a major league temper tantrum like he had when he was five and they had actually stayed at a place long enough for Dean to make a friend and he had spent all his time with him instead of his pesky younger brother. He wished Dean would hit him, at least then he would be acknowledging his existence. He hated it when Dean ignored him.  
He wanted his brother back, he needed him.

In the darkness, a red neon sign suddenly appeared. Sam was about to point out the blinking vacancy part when Dean abruptly swerved off the highway and drove into the empty parking lot. Once the Impala had come to a stop, Sam opened his door and jumped out. "I'll get the room." He hurried into the office, casting a look back at Dean. He didn't like what he saw. Dean had leaned his head back on the seat and his eyes were closed. His invincible older brother looked defeated.

"Hello," the man behind the front desk greeted Sam, interrupting his worried perusal of his brother. He stood up and smiled. Sam blinked. The desk clerk was very tall. It wasn't often that Sam had to look up at a person and he found he wasn't quite comfortable with it. There was nothing menacing about the man, he looked rather ordinary with short black hair and pale blue eyes. Despite his size, Dean would have categorized the man as a geek and dismissed him. The man raised an eyebrow. "Would you like a room?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam shook off his uneasiness, he was probably just tired, and dug into his jeans for his wallet. He handed the clerk a credit card - his credit card - and decided he would worry about how he would pay it off later. "A double please."

"Okay." The clerk looked around Sam at Dean in the car. "How long will you and your friend be staying?"

Sam frowned. This was a roadside truck stop in the middle of nowhere. He doubted that it was a premiere vacation spot. "Just tonight. My brother got tired of driving so we decided to call it a night." Sam signed the register and the credit card slip the clerk handed him and then scooped up the key. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Sam. I hope you and your brother enjoy your stay."

"Thanks." Sam nodded politely and left the office. Dean was still slumped in the driver's seat looking exhausted. Sam reached through the window and touched his brother's shoulder. Dean's eyes popped open immediately, but Sam was a bit disturbed that Dean hadn't grabbed his hand or made any other defensive move. "We're in room five. Do you want me to park the car?"

"Nah, I got it." Dean waved him away and Sam stepped back. He watched as Dean reversed and drove the car over to park in front of room five. He was about to follow when a prickling sensation raced across the back of his neck. Sam turned to look behind him. The clerk stood in the office doorway, staring in Dean's direction. When he noticed Sam looking at him, he waved good-naturedly, but it did nothing to ease Sam's nerves. This 'shining,' as Dean liked to call it, was making him jumpy.

"Sam, you coming or are you planning on sleeping in the parking lot." Dean yelled from the car. Sam immediately jogged over to him.

"Sorry." Sam shrugged sheepishly to counter Dean's glower. He hesitated before grabbing his bag from the backseat. "You know, maybe we should keep moving. I could drive."

"No way, I'm beat and you've already paid for the room." Dean hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What's your problem, Sam? First you tell me to pull over at the next motel and now you want to drive all night?"

"Nothing. Desk clerk just gave me the creeps." Sam sighed as he unlocked the motel room door. He briefly considered elaborating on his hinky feeling about the clerk, but there really was nothing to elaborate on.

Dean just grunted as he pushed past Sam into the room. They were back to that. Sam slammed the door shut behind him and stalked into the dark room. Fine, if that's the way Dean wanted it, that's the way it would be. He was fed up with his brother's attitude. Sam flopped down on the bed nearest to the door and shut his eyes. He heard Dean close himself off in the bathroom and the shower start up. It was Dean's way of avoiding him. Sam rolled over onto his side before opening his eyes. He stared at the slit of light at the bottom of the bathroom door. They couldn't go on like this, it was going to get one of them killed and Sam was terrified it would be Dean. His older brother's reflexes were off and he was tired all the time and it wasn't just his injuries that affecting Dean. Something essential was missing in Dean and Sam didn't know what it was or how he was going to give it back.  
He was pretty sure that he was the one who had taken it.

The water shut off and a few minutes later Dean opened the door. For a moment, before Dean snapped the bathroom light off, Sam caught a glimpse of his chest. It looked like it hadn't healed at all. The bruises were a deep, violent purple, a horrible backdrop for the vicious red welts and stark white bandages that covered the wounds from the rock salt. Sam closed his eyes again, feigning sleep. He waited until Dean had settled and his breathing evened out and slowed in sleep before getting up and getting ready for bed himself. He laid back down on his side, watching Dean sleep. "Please don't die, Dean," he whispered softly.

Sam's eyes opened and he gasped loudly. He didn't remember falling asleep, but while he was he had rolled over onto his back and he was now staring at the ceiling. Immediately, he threw himself over onto his side, breathing heavily. He glanced over to the other bed to make sure he hadn't disturbed Dean. It was empty. Sam frowned and checked his watch. It was one thirty in the morning. He had been asleep for less than an hour. "Dean," Sam called out, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs out to sit up on the edge of his bed. "Dean, you okay, man?"

The bathroom was dark, but that didn't mean anything. If Dean was sick then he could have stumbled in there without turning on the light. But whey the hell wasn't he answering? His brother was so goddamn stoic. Dean feel pain? Never! Sam rolled his eyes as he flipped on the light. "You know the rule, big brother, if you puked it, you clean..." The bathroom was empty. They were in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't a town for miles and there was no bar or anyplace for Dean to go to blow off some steam. He wouldn't wander around alone at night, not in unfamiliar territory. Sam flipped off the light and stumbled back to sit on Dean's bed. "Dean." Sam meant to call out again, but it came out as barely a whisper. He stared at his hands in his lap. His pounding heart battled with his raspy breaths for the loudest sound in the room. He couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough. Damn it, why hadn't he listened to his feelings? Why hadn't he pushed Dean into the passenger seat of the Impala and took off? There was no way he could...but how could he not?

Sam dashed the tears from his eyes and shut them tight. He laid back down on the bed. "Please, Dean, please don't be up there," he choked. There was one thing that Sam knew for sure. If Dean was ripped open and pinned to the ceiling above him, Sam was not going to let his brother die a fiery death alone. There would be no one to pull him out of the room and he would not leave his brother. It would be over. The thing that had killed their Mom and Jess would win. Sam opened his eyes.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two 

His brother was an ass. A stubborn, whiny ass that never listened. Dean gripped the steering wheel of his beloved Impala tighter as he caught Sam glaring at him in his peripheral vision. He was well aware that his little brother was pissed, Sam was hardly subtle about that emotion. Dean didn't even know what the hell Sam's problem was anyway. It wasn't like he had gotten shot by his brother lately. As far as Dean was concerned, Sam had nothing to pout about. The little shit.

Dean shifted in his seat, sending a searing slash of pain down his side. He gripped the wheel even tighter to stop himself from groaning. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to see that he was hurting. If he did, his little brother would get all depressed and Dean would take pissy Sam over guilty, silent, sad Sam any day.

The music abruptly cut off in the middle of the best Aerosmith song ever and Dean steeled himself from glancing at his brother. The kid had no respect and besides, he already knew the expression on Sam's face. His jaw would be stubbornly set in a ridged line and his dark eyes would be sparking with mulish conviction. "You've been driving for almost sixteen hours, Dean. We're stopping at the next motel," Sam declared.

Wow, he hoped Mr. I'm-Nothing-Like-Dad didn't expect a salute, because he wasn't getting one. "Fine," Dean grunted and shrugged like it was no big deal. He really didn't feel like arguing anyway, his chest and ribs couldn't take sitting in the car much longer - not that he would ever let Sam know that was his reason for giving in. The last thing Dean needed was for Sam to think he was weak as well as pathetic. Fuck! He would be glad when his bruises and wounds from the rock salt would heal and he and Sam could move past all of this and get back to normal. For a brief moment, the image of Sam pointing the gun at him and pulling the trigger pushed itself into Dean's thoughts. The rage in his brother's eyes had been so pure and unmistakeably directed at him. Dean couldn't ignore it - Sam had never even looked at their father like that. Hate didn't heal and it didn't go away and he had no idea how to fix it.

A red neon sign appeared suddenly in the darkness, blessedly distracting Dean from the direction of his thoughts. He turned into the parking lot of 'The Pit stop Motel' and stopped in front of the office. He was bracing himself for movement when Sam opened his door and jumped out. "I'll get the room."

Dean let out a sigh once the door was slammed shut. The tension in the car had been giving him a headache on top of everything and thankfully it left with Sam. Dean leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. He knew Sam was itching to talk about everything and that his refusal to discuss anything was the reason for Sam's increasing pissiness. Well, for once he wasn't going to cave into little brother's demands. He didn't want to get into a touchy-feely crap discussion that would only lead to them saying more horrible things to each other that would mean another touchy-feely crap discussion that would get them nowhere. Sam was just going to have to suck it up and stop being a baby.

The office door creaked as it swung open and banged shut. A few moments later Sam touched Dean's shoulder and he opened his eyes. Dean suppressed a frustrated growl at the naked concern directed his way. He may have agreed to stopping here, but that didn't mean he needed to be coddled. He had looked after himself just fine during the four years Sam was off 'being normal.'

"We're in room five. Do you want me to park the car?"

"Nah, I got it." Dean waved Sam off. He didn't need any favors from his baby brother. Besides, moving hurt like hell and less he did, the better. He parked in front of room five and looked back at Sam, who was still standing in front of the office. Happy not to have an audience, Dean took a deep breath and then exited the car. He managed to snag his duffel from the back before stopping to rest against the car. Dean frowned. Sam hadn't moved and was currently in a staring contest with the Norman Bates desk clerk. "Sam, you coming or are you planning on sleeping in the parking lot?" Dean yelled. He didn't like the way the giant creep was looking at his brother. Ever since Sam had told him that he had psychic dreams, Dean had been on edge. Having that kind of sensitivity had to make a magnet for the evil baddies out there - Doctor Ellicott proved it. Dean had been poking around Ellicott's files, but yet the evil ghost doctor had chosen to lure Sam into his lair. He would give anything to be able to burn that bastard's bones one more time.

As Dean was contemplating the multiple deaths Dr. Ellicott, Sam jogged up to him looking like he did when he was ten and had eaten the last cookie. "Sorry." Sam hesitantly grabbed his duffle from the backseat. "You know, maybe we should keep moving. I could drive."

"No way, I'm beat and you've already paid for the room." And he didn't exactly relish the idea of sitting in the car for hours, not with the promise of a long, hot shower within reach. Of course, this was Sam suggesting this and there had to be a reason why he had suddenly changed his mind. Dean hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, wearied at just the thought of more traveling. "What's your problem, Sam? First you tell me to pull over at the next motel and now you want to drive all night?"

"Nothing. Desk clerk just gave me the creeps."

Dean pushed himself off the car as Sam unlocked the motel room door. He couldn't breath. Pain exploded in his chest and it took all of Dean's strength to stay upright. He pushed past Sam into the room and headed straight into the bathroom. He heard the motel room door slam as he hunched over the sink, breathing in shallow gasps until the pain started to subside. As soon as he was able, he reached over and shut the bathroom door. Sam couldn't see him like this. It had been two and a half days since Sam had shot him with the rock salt, he should be getting better, but he wasn't. The pain was getting worse. Dean took a deep breath and pushed away from the sink. A glimpse at his face in the cracked mirror showed him exactly why it was a good thing they were nowhere near civilization. His skin was a greyish white and he had black circles under his eyes. The ladies would not have appreciated this look.

Surprisingly, the shower was decent. When Dean turned on the water, it came out in a forceful, hot spray that would go a long way in loosening up the muscles in his chest and ease his breathing. It was a relief, because he could not afford a hospital stay - not with their Dad missing and Sam so mad at him. Very carefully, Dean shed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He let the water course over his head and down his chest and back. His Dad left him. Sam hated him. What would stop his little brother from taking off on his own to search for their errant father? With Sam's psychic ability, it wasn't like he really needed his big brother. What was Dean anyway? A pathetic soldier that was only good for following orders. And if he was injured, he wasn't even good for that. Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. "Please, don't leave me, Sammy," he whispered into the rushing water.

- - - -

Something was wrong. Dean opened his eyes, but didn't reach for the knife under his pillow. It wasn't the presence of another person that had woken him, it was the absence. He couldn't hear Sam breathing from the other bed. "Sam," Dean called out while carefully manoeuvring himself up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He didn't really expect an answer, he knew there was no one else in the room. "Goddamnit, Sam, you better not have wandered off alone. Being a sulky prick won't protect you from any nasties lurking out there." Dean fumbled with the bedside lamp.

Even though it was dim, it still took a few moments for Dean's eyes to adjust to the light. There was definitely something wrong. Sam's bed looked like it hadn't even been touched and his duffle was missing. Why would Sam take his duffle if he was just walking off a mood? He wouldn't...unless he didn't plan on coming back. Dean licked his lips. "Sam wouldn't do that," he told the quiet twilight. Right, because it's not like he had never done it before. Dean buried his head in his hands, clutching at his hair. "Shut up. Sam did not leave." Yeah, because Sam was nothing like Dad. This was how it had happened with him. He had woken up in the middle of the night in a motel room alone,but at least John Winchester had thoughtfully left a note. Dean stood up suddenly and looked around the room. There was no note. He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and jerked a t-shirt over his head - barely noticing the accompanying pain the movements caused. Sam was probably just pouting in the car. He used to do that sometimes when their Dad announced it was time to move on from a place. He could still picture little Sammy staring sullenly out the window from the backseat until their Dad dragged him out of the car and into their new 'home.'

"Sam," Dean yelled as he banged out of the room. The Impala sat in its parking space, an empty sentry waiting for its call to duty. Where the hell was his brother? Even if Sam had left, there was no where for him to go. Despite his college boy ways, Dean doubted he would hitchhike, but maybe he grabbed a bus. Sam has insisted he get the room, maybe he wanted to ask the desk clerk the best way to clear out of here and leave his brother in the dust. That could explain the weird looks. Well, there was only one way to get answers. Dean stalked toward the office. Maybe Sam had left his 'Dear Dean, Fuck off' letter with Lurch.

"Good morning, Mr. Winchester, you're up early," the clerk greeted Dean brightly even though he had unceremoniously slammed into the office. "Are you leaving us so soon?"

"Where's my brother?" So help him, if this guy kept up the corny customer service act, Dean was going to blast him and he might not use rock salt.

"Excuse me?" The man frowned. "Were you expecting someone to join you?"

"No. My brother, Sam, checked us in and now I can't find him."

"No," the man said placidly. He brought the register out from under the desk and turned it so that Dean could read it. His name, his signature, was recorded under room five. "You checked in yourself,  
Mr. Winchester, and you were alone."

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three 

Sam opened his eyes. He had been so afraid that he would be meeting Dean's frozen, anguished gaze, that it took a few moments for the sight of the empty ceiling to register. As soon as it did, Sam threw himself off the bed and ran into the bathroom. He made it to the toilet in time to puke up everything but his guts and then dry heaved for a minute or two. He flushed the toilet and slumped back against the bathtub. He turned a bit so he could rest his head against the cool porcelain. Sam was very aware of the absence of a comforting touch on his back and a concerned murmur in his ear. Dean was gone, but he wasn't dead.

Dean wasn't dead. The thought galvanized Sam. He stood up on shaky legs and washed his face. He quickly rinsed his mouth with some of the lukewarm, slightly metallic tasting water from the tap and spit it into the chipped sink. Sam frowned at his reflection in the tarnished mirror. Where the hell was his brother? Dean hadn't been taken from the room. There was no way in hell Sam would have slept through a fight and Dean would have fought. Dean had left the room voluntarily,  
but why? Had something lured him out? It wasn't like Dean to fall into a trap like that, but then Dean was hurt - physically and emotionally - and that made him vulnerable. Sam winced. He had made his brother vulnerable.

But now was not the time to wallow in his guilt - he could do that tomorrow in the car - right now he needed to find Dean. If Dean was hurt or in trouble and he needed him, Sam was going to be there. He wasn't going to let his brother down this time. Resolutely, Sam left the bathroom and got dressed. He had no idea where he was going, but he would search every room in this motel until he found his brother. Dean wasn't dead and that was the only important thing.

Walking outside was like getting cold water splashed on his face on a blistering hot day. Shock and relief. The Impala was gone. Dean must have gone for a drive to clear his head. Except that Dean was wiped and hurting, he wouldn't drive around aimlessly. Sam's gaze was drawn to the lights of the office. Maybe Dean had asked the desk clerk if there was a bar further up the road and he was there working through his issues with a bottle of beer and a game of pool. Sharking people always relaxed Dean.

Convinced that his errant older brother was in some roadside dive, completely captivating all the females and pissing off the other male patrons while relieving them of their hard earned cash. Sam jogged over to the office, once he knew for sure where Dean was, he would be able to relax and wait for Dean to return. Then he and his brother were going to talk about everything. He knew it was the last thing Dean wanted to do, but it was going to happen. They were going to tell each other how they felt about Dad missing, about what happened in the asylum and everything that pissed them off about each other. And when they were done that, Sam was going to hug Dean and tell the big lug that he loved him and when Dean called him a pussy he would know that his brother loved him too.

"Uh, excuse me," Sam said to get the desk clerk's attention as he walked into the office. The man was sitting behind the desk watching a small black and white television with more snow than picture. The man looked up with that disturbing over-friendly smile, so Sam continued, "I was wondering if maybe you had talked to my brother tonight? He was feeling restless and now he seems to have disappeared on me. Did he ask about any bars nearby?"

"Oh, there's nothing nearby." The desk clerk's voice was pleasant, his expression affable, but there was still something about him that made Sam uncomfortable. "I didn't talk to your brother, Sam, but I did see him."

Sam bit back a testy rebuke at the use of his first name. He really didn't like how this man too casually referred to him as 'Sam' like he knew him. He didn't want to offend the guy though, especially if he had any information about Dean, so instead he just smiled tightly and tried to keep his tone polite. "Really? When did you see him?"

"About half an hour ago. He was packing up his car and then he drove off. It looked like he was leaving."

"Leaving?" Sam frowned in confusion. That didn't make sense. "You made a mistake, you must have seen it wrong."

"No, Sam. Your brother left you, but don't worry, you can stay here as long as you like."

Sam didn't bother to tell the man where he could shove his offer to stay because he was already walking out the door. He would only be staying long enough to find his brother and then there were showing this godforsaken place the Impala's taillights.

-----

By four in the morning there was still no Dean and Sam was pacing around their room. There was something wrong with this place. Except for the creepy clerk, Sam had neither saw nor heard anyone else. There was no dial tone on the phone, just bursts of static, and there was no reception for his cell phone. These were all things Sam was currently kicking himself about for not noticing them earlier. If he had paid more attention to his uneasiness over the clerk then Dean would be safe. They would be together.

Sam sat in the chair by the window and let his breath out in a frustrated huff. The glass fogged briefly and disappeared. Sam stared out at the empty parking lot and wished for the sweeping headlights of the Impala to wash over him. That car had been home more than anyplace else. When they were younger, Dean had always created a comfortable, safe place for them in the backseat of the Impala. While their father had drove and muttered about the evils of the world in the front seat, Dean and Sam had played games or Dean had told Sam stories about the great new place they were going to and how it was going to be a fun new adventure. One of Sam's favorite memories from that time happened when he was four. They had been driving for a long time and Sam had started to get whiney and restless so Dean had distracted him by teaching him how to spell his name in the fogged up window. Their Dad had given Dean hell for smudging up the windows, but Dean hadn't cared. He had just ruffled Sam's hair and told how proud he was that Sam had learned so quickly.

On impulse, Sam leaned close to the window and breathed on it. In the patch of fog, he carefully drew S-A-M with his finger. He didn't know what the hell this place was, but its goal was obviously to separate him from his brother. The clerk had made a mistake though - never in a million years would Sam believe that Dean would just walk out on him in the middle of the night without saying anything. No matter how mad he was, Dean would never abandon him. Sam raised a hand to wipe his name off the glass when another patch of fog appeared beside it. As he watched M-Y was added. S-A-M-M-Y.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four 

Dean looked at his signature like it was an ancient foreign language he had to translate. "That's bullshit." But it was his signature and given his brother's law-abiding attitude, he doubted that Sam had forged it. Still, it had been Sam who had checked them in. He clearly remembered Sam slamming the door of his car after offering to get the room. He also remembered Sam telling him that the desk clerk gave him the creeps. Dean eyed the man across the desk suspiciously. "My brother Sam checked us in. Tall guy, shaggy hair, probably insanely polite - you don't remember him?"

"No, Mr. Winchester, you checked yourself in." The man shook his head sadly and gave him a pitying look. "You were quite upset and you mumbled something about being alone and how it was your fault he was dead."

"Excuse me?" Dean leaned over the counter, oozing menace and danger with his body language while keeping his tone neutral. "Did I happen to say who had died?"

"Your brother. You must have had a bad dream and woke up thinking he was still alive, but the proof is right here." The desk clerk nudged the register closer to Dean.

Dead. Dean raised his eyebrows. Did this sick fuck actually think that he would believe that Sam was dead? Not going to happen. "Look, buddy, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but my brother isn't dead and I didn't sign this thing." Dean pushed the register back toward the clerk with his finger.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm sorry for your loss..."

"No, you're not because I haven't lost anything." Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Permanently," he amended. He glared at the clerk. "So, what's the deal? Are you a dream weaver? A Mare? What's this mindfuck supposed to accomplish? You make me believe I'm all alone and that Sammy left me again just so you can what? Steal my soul? Feed on my pain and fear?" Another possibility occurred to Dean like a punch in the gut. "Attack my brother!" Dean launched himself over the desk, grasping for the clerk, when a torrent of screaming agony ripped through his chest. He stumbled and the taller man used the opportunity to pin him against the wall. "Okay," Dean panted in harsh gasps, trying to ease the fire burning his chest. "Not a dream...next time...I'll just pinch myself."

The clerk just frowned at Dean, obviously not a man who appreciated humor. "Mr. Winchester, I understand that you're grieving, but I can't have you talking nonsense and attacking people. I'll have to ask you to leave." Dean struggled out of the man's grip. He let Dean go immediately and stepped back. Dean stared hard at the clerk and the taller man met his gaze warily. "Is there someone I can call for you, Mr. Winchester? Another family member or a doctor, perhaps?"

"No." Dean adjusted his jacket collar and walked back around to the other side of the desk. "There's no one to call except Sam and I won't be going anywhere without him."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to eventually, Mr. Winchester." The clerk straightened up the things Dean had knocked askew on the desk. He set his nameplate up and looked at Dean. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Your brother isn't with you any longer."

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that, Al." Dean tapped the name on the nameplate and walked out.

----

"Fuck!" Dean stalked toward the bed. He had emptied the Impala's trunk and currently every weapon he owned was spread out on the faded gold bedspread. After that was done, he found himself at a complete and total loss as to what to do next. He had already searched the place - breaking into every room, broom closet, and boiler room - and the only thing he had found was the horrible sense that he had failed his brother. He had been so wrapped up in his own pain and hurt feelings when they had pulled into this place that he hadn't noticed it was hinky. In his search for Sam it had become abundantly clear that there was no one else staying at this motel. Aside from the lack of population, there was also no traffic on the highway and no wildlife scampering around the area. There were no coyotes yapping in the darkness or crickets singing. There weren't even any rats or roaches. It was like this place was cut off from the world and Dean was cut off from Sam. He didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

"Christ." Dean walked back to the door. It was one thing for the nice houses with the picket fences to be harboring a nasty poltergeist - he could deal with Sam's precious normal being just a thin veneer for a lot of fucked up shit underneath - but truck stop motels were his normal. What the hell was he going to do? Shoot every desk clerk full of rock salt before asking for a room? He would probably be spending a lot of nights in his car. Dean stared out the window into the black night as if he could glare his brother back into existence. "What the hell is this place?" He didn't expect an answer and he didn't get one. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?"

A patch of fog appeared on the window in front of Dean like someone or something had breathed on it. Dean tensed, but his instincts weren't screaming 'threat.' His heart almost stopped though when a shaky 'S' curved on the glass followed by an angular 'A' and a pointy 'M.' It was how he had taught Sam how to print his name. It was how their Mom had taught him how to spell his own name as well as his baby brother's one rainy afternoon a few months before she died. He could still remember sitting on her knee on the window bench in Sam's nursery with Sam breathing deeply in soft little baby snores in his crib while the rain drizzled steadily down the pane of glass in front of them. Mom had told him to breath on the glass and then she had taken his little hand and traced 'Dean and Sammy' with his index finger. Did he tell Sammy that story while he had taught him how to spell his name on the car windows? If he hadn't, then he would tell him as soon as he could - Sam needed to hear that story - and this had to be a sign from Sam. There was only one way to find out.

Dean stepped closer to the window and breathed on the glass. He traced an 'M' and a 'Y' next to 'SAM' and then waited. Nothing happened. Dean frowned at the glass. He never had considered patience to be a virtue when his little brother could be in trouble. Before he could smash his fist through the window in frustration, he got a response. The 'MY' he had added was erased and an emphatic slash was drawn under 'SAM.' Dean grinned and managed to restrain himself from letting out a loud whoop. It had to be Sam, no one else could pull off a pissy attitude on a foggy window. Dean fogged up the window again just above Sam's name and wrote 'OK' and then - just to be an ass so Sam would know it was him - he added the 'MY' to 'SAM' as well as a question mark.

The words were immediately wiped away and replaced with 'FINE. YOU?' Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Sam wasn't dead. Of course, he had no idea where Sam was or how he was writing on their motel room's window, but at least he wasn't dead. Dean wouldn't even entertain the possibility that Sam was dead and was now a ghost. Sam wouldn't have written that he was fine if he were a ghost and if anyone should know that they were of the living-challenged persuasion, it would be psychic boy. Maybe he was the ghost. Dean shook his head at the thought. He didn't remember dying and a little rock salt to the chest was hardly enough to kill him. Besides, his chest still hurt like hell. Dean leaned in toward the window, but apparently his internal debate had taken too long because the words Sam had written disappeared and were replaced with 'DEAN!'

Dean hastily wrote back, 'I'M GOOD. WHERE R U?' and felt stomach twist when Sam wrote back 'MOTEL ROOM. YOU?' Dean confirmed that he was also in their motel room and hoped to hell Sammy was smart enough to come up with something other than one of them being dead to explain this. 'GHOST REALM?' That was a good theory, now they just needed a test. Dean glanced the array of weapons he had laid out on the bed. He grinned and jotted a quick note to Sam on the window. He crossed to the bed and picked up the shotgun. He loaded it with a couple of shells filled with rock salt and aimed at the window. His reflection wavered in the dark surface and Dean paused at the sight of the shotgun pointed at him.

For a moment, Sam's face floated in his mind - blood dripping from his nose and eyes black with rage. Dean shook his head and pushed that memory away. That was something he and Sam would work out face to face. He pulled the trigger, shattering the glass.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

AN: This part is unfinished. It had been so long since I last updated that I thought that I should post what I do have written to show that I haven't abandoned this story. Thank you to everyone for the wonderful reviews. I hope to finish this story soon.

Part Five

'SAMMY.' Sam stared at the nickname he loved and hated. It had to be Dean, but how? Where was he and how could he have... Sam's heart clenched as icy darts shivered down his spine. He stared at his phantom reflection in the window, not letting the thought become anything more than a half formed fear. Dean was not... Dean was fine. He was fine and soon they would be fine together. As soon as they figured out what the hell was going on. At least now there was a place to start. Sam reached out and wiped the 'MY' away and drew a line under 'SAM.'

It didn't take long for a response. Another patch of fog formed above his name with the message 'OK SAMMY?' It was Dean. Only his brother could be concerned and an ass at the same time. "Yes!" Sam yelled and wiped the glass clean with his hand. He fogged up the window and wrote 'FINE. YOU?' Nothing happened. Sam stepped back from the window. Dean had to be okay. Sam bounced on his toes as he waited for a reply. This was ridiculous. He was communicating with his brother by writing on a window for Christ's sake. Why wasn't Dean answering?What if he was hurt? What if he...Sam automatically shut down the thought before he could complete it, but he knew denial wouldn't help. He had to face every possibility so he could deal with it. Sam took a deep breath and then let himself think the one thing he never wanted to have to deal with. What if Dean was dead and his spirit was communicating with him? Dean probably didn't know how to tell Sam,writing 'I'M DEAD. SORRY' on a window pane wouldn't be an easy way to tell your little brother you had died while he was sleeping. Oh, God, what if Dean wanted him to find his body and then salt and burn his bones? He couldn't do that. He would rather Dean haunted him for eternity.

The words on the glass faded a bit as the fog started to slowly dissipate. Sam scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away the moisture before tears could fall. He had killed his brother. If Dean was dead then he must have died from the injuries Sam had caused at the asylum. He could have been bleeding internally, slowly dying, and Sam hadn't noticed a thing. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the image of Dean waking up in the middle of the night - confused and in pain - stumbling outside and dying alone in the dirt. "No!" Sam shook his head. That didn't happen. Something wasn't right about this place and the clerk. It was this place that was dead, not his brother. Sam opened his eyes and wiped his words away with his forearm. He needed to know what was going with his brother before the speculation drove him crazy. Sam wrote 'DEAN!' on the glass and hoped that would get a response. He almost fainted in relief when words immediately appeared.  
'I'M GOOD. WHERE R U?'

Sam answered and asked where Dean was even though he was pretty sure his brother was in the room with him. When his suspicions were confirmed, he felt the panic rise again. Dean hadn't written anything about being a ghost, but maybe he didn't know he was dead. It would be just like Dean to cling to his own personal mission to watch over his little brother. Even if said little brother could be a selfish, whining bastard who didn't appreciate him as much as he should. Sam swallowed his regret and grief. Now was not the time to think that he would never again sit beside Dean in the car listening to ancient metal music. The Impala. Sam stared hard out the window. The Impala was gone. And as much as Dean would want to, Sam knew that Dean wouldn't be able to take his beloved old car with him when he died. Sam grinned. Dean wasn't dead, they were just separated some how. It had to be this place. Sam went to the window and ran this theory by Dean. Hopefully, his brother would know how the hell to get them out of this. A word appeared on the window and Sam frowned.

"Duck?" Sam blinked in confusion. What would a duck be doing in the motel room with Dean? Then it occurred to Sam that the word wasn't so much a noun as a verb and he hit the floor just as the window exploded in a shower of tinkling glass. Sam looked up cautiously. "The fuck,  
Dean?" He slowly raised himself up and when nothing else shattered, he stood up and looked around.

The lamp on the small writing desk in the corner flickered and Sam looked toward it in time to see the mirror on the wall behind it fog up. 'OOPS. DIDN'T WORK.'

"No shit, Sherlock." Sam shook his head. This writing on fogged up surfaces was getting to be a pain in the ass. They couldn't communicate properly this way. He couldn't tell Dean what he was thinking and Dean couldn't tell him what he was thinking. There had to be another way. Sam paced around the room. "Okay," he muttered to himself. "We're both in the motel room, but in different dimensions. But the window, mirror, and lamp exist in both because we can both manipulate them." It hit Sam what Dean had been trying to do when he shot out the window - create a rip in the dimension that one of them could pass through. "Not bad, big brother." Sam was impressed, even though it didn't work and left them with a broken window.

--

Dean stared at the broken window, but nothing happened - not that he was even sure what he expected. It hadn't brought Sam to him or him to Sam, so it was bust. Dean tossed the shotgun onto the bed and moved over to the desk. Now he needed another way to communicate with Sam. Hoping it would work on the same principle as the window and that it would get his brother's attention, Dean flicked the lamp on and off a few times. Then he fogged up the mirror and wrote. Sam probably wasn't too impressed with his idea, but it had been worth a shot. Dean smirked. He could imagine what Sam was muttering about his 'idea.' If it had even worked on Sam's end. 'BROKEN WINDOW?'

'YES. WHAT NOW?' was Sam's reply. Dean snorted and wrote back. He was out of juice on this one and only hoped Sam could come up with something.

--

'YOUR TURN COLLEGE BOY' appeared on the mirror. Sam rolled his eyes.  
He didn't have a clue what to do next and he really didn't have anything to work with. Dean apparently had the Impala and the weapons and probably the laptop too. All Sam had was his cell phone with no reception. He had nothing, not even a damn breeze coming through the window. He was alone - isolated - with nothing. He had no weapons to fight with, no car to drive off in, and no brother to protect him. He was the one who was trapped. Sam stood up and crossed to the mirror.

--

'YOU CAN LEAVE. I CAN'T'

Dean's eyes narrowed at the words on the mirror. "Like hell," he ground out. He wasn't going to leave Sam. He hadn't done it when Al the asshole desk clerk had suggested it and he wasn't going to do it now just because it was Sam's bright idea. Dean frowned. The clerk had been pretty hot for him to leave.

'YOU CAN GET MORE INFO. COME BACK' Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's persistence. He didn't need to leave to get more info, he was pretty sure he knew where to get it. He wiped Sam's argument away and replaced it with his own.

--

'SHUT IT SAM'

Sam scowled at the words. Even though the thought of Dean leaving him here scared the shit out of him, it was the only way they had a chance - or at least Dean would have a chance. He was trapped here by something or someone. If Dean could leave, Sam didn't want to be the one who kept him here. The world needed Dean. It needed his brash older brother to save the day and keep the monsters in the closet from winning. It didn't need Sam - who had no interest in saving it and only seemed to attract the nasties. Maybe it was better this way, at least if he was stuck here then he wouldn't get anyone else killed, like he had gotten Jessica killed. Through his tears, Sam saw words start to appear on the mirror, but he angrily wiped them away. He wrote instead.

--

It had taken a while for Dean to figure out how to enlighten Sam about his wonderful theory, so when the words were unceremoniously wiped away before he would finish, he was a bit mad. Quelling the urge to bash the mirror with his fist, Dean bit his bottom lip instead. Fine, if Sam wanted to be stubborn and not even consider his idea. Dean closed his eyes on the words that appeared in the mirror as the anger drained away.

'DEAN PLEASE'

He had heard Sam say those words so many times. With big bambi eyes and childish lisp - Dean please can we stop to buy an ice cream. With high pitched giggles and gulping gasps - Dean please stop tickling. With impatience and barely repressed anger - Dean please just tell Dad I have to study and I'm not going hunting this weekend. This 'Dean please' was the worst. He could almost hear the desperate pleading and resigned self-sacrifice. This was a 'Dean please leave me and save yourself because I can't be the reason you die.' Because they both knew that's what Dean would do - stay in this shithole motel room until either Sam came back or he died. He was a stubborn bastard, after all,  
who didn't know how to let go.

"Dammit, Sammy, you've got to learn to have more faith in big brother.  
I'm not leaving without you," Dean said out loud even though he knew Sam couldn't hear him. It was the first time he hadn't given in to a 'Dean please.'

--


	6. Chapter 5 Continued

Sam looked down at his feet and swallowed the guilt welling up like bile in the back of his throat. He wasn't proud of using his powers of little brother manipulation, even if it was for Dean's own good. He knew damn well that his brother always caved to a 'Dean please' and in his defence, Sam hadn't used one in years. It had been his only choice. He couldn't argue his case rationally through a mirror. Sam sighed. So much had been happening lately to fuck up things between him and his brother - first the asylum and the horrible things Sam had said and done and now this. He missed Dean and he had been missing Dean for a while now. He hadn't even gotten the chance to make up for what had happened when he had been influenced by Ellicott. Sam kept his eyes on the mirror, waiting for Dean to say good-bye. 

'? DESK CLERK' appeared instead.

"Shit, why didn't I think of that?" Sam ran his fingers through his hair. The creepy guy had twigged his psychic senses and had shown an unusual interest in him. He was also the only person besides Sam in this desolate place. Sam turned and headed out of the room. He was getting the hell out of here. He was going back to his brother.

--

This time when Dean stormed into the main office, Lurch was waiting for him. He stood behind the desk with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised.

"I don't suppose you are here to check out, are you, Mr. Winchester?" He shook his head in resigned disappointment. "You are very stubborn."

"You are not telling me news, Al." Dean smirked. "So, why don't you release Sam from whatever alternate reality you have him stashed in and we'll be on our merry way."

Al tilted his head to the side as he seemed to consider Dean's words. "Are you sure that's what you really want, Dean? You know that Sam's abilities attract a certain element. It worries you."

"And your fucking point is?" Dean's jaw clenched. He didn't like the one-eighty. Las time they talked, this guy had insisted he didn't even know who the hell Sam was and now they were all on a first name basis and chatting about Sam's visions.

"You can't keep him safe. You have to think about Sam, Dean, and what's best for him." Al leaned over the desk. "You think you are the hunters, but really you are the hunted. Where he is now, Sam can't be touched."

Dean felt a chill tremble through his body. This guy/thing/whatever wanted to keep Sam like a princess in a tower. He also seemed to have some info on the demon that killed their Mom and Jessica. "What are you?"

Al smiled a thin, humorless smile. "I won't insult you with claims of friendship or of being some sort of guardian or protector. I'm merely an interested party."

"Interested party?" Dean could barely get the question out his jaw was so tight and he was pretty sure his teeth were going to crack from the pressure.

"Interested in keeping Sam away from a certain demon."

Now that was tempting, but Dean couldn't do it. Sam had a right to confront the demon that had taken so much from him. "You wouldn't happen to have a certain demon's address in your evil Rolodex would you, Al? Or have you upgraded to a palm pilot? Because I've got a delivery for it that's long overdue."

"I'm sure you do, but I only know of this demon and what would happen if he obtained access to Sam's abilities. You have to leave him here, Dean, so you can continue on your quest. I might even be able to help you in locating this demon you seek."

"But only if I leave Sam with you, right?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "You'll give me the location of the demon that killed my Mom, but only if I leave my baby brother stashed in a realm where only you have access to him?" Dean grabbed Al by his collar and dragged him halfway across the desk. "No deal. I want my brother back!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a bright white flash blinded Dean and he felt something knock him back into the wall. "Sammy!" he called out even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer. He had failed his brother. And with that thought, Dean lost consciousness.

--

The door to the office hit the outside wall with a satisfying crack when Sam swung it open and stepped into the office. The creepy desk clerk looked up when it slammed shut behind him.

"What the hell are you?" Sam bit out. He glared at the clerk and clenched his fists at his sides. He was sick and tired of being the supernatural's doormat. The visions were bad enough, but he had also had his mind manipulated by an insane ghost and had now apparently been kidnapped by some other thing. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to be comfortable here, Sam. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, I'm your host. Is there something you need?" His host smiled pleasantly.

"Yeah, I need to get the hell out of here." Sam stepped closer to the front desk. He managed to return the man's smile and threw in wide, pleading eyes to add to the affect. "You don't understand...even if I wanted to, I can't stay here. My brother needs me."

"Dean did just fine without you for four years, Sam." The man's smile disappeared and he looked disappointed. "You and your brother are the ones who don't understand. You are safe here, Sam, the demon you foolishly seek can't touch you here."

"So, I'm stuck here for the rest of my life?"

"No, just until your family finally destroys the demon."

Sam swallowed hard. The thought of Dean and his Dad going up against the demon without him made him sick. "No. You have to let me go. Dean..."

"Is a survivor who doesn't need you. Really, Sam, you know you only get in his way. If you're there when they finally find the demon, you might even get him killed. You know he'll die protecting you."

There was no arguing with that - Dean took the protective big brother persona to staggering new heights - when they found the demon Dean would be at his side and watching his back. The least Sam could do was the same thing for Dean. "I'm not going to hide. You may be right, I might be Dean's biggest weakness, but you are wrong about one thing - he does need me. And I need him. He's my brother - the only one I got - and I'm not going to lose him." Sam blinked fiercely, knowing that his eyes were glossy with tears.

"Then you should think of your brother, Sam," his host pleaded. He sounded desperate. Sam's eyes narrowed. His host was trying too hard to convince his reluctant guest to stay.

"I have a choice. You could bring me here, but you can't keep me here against my will." The look on the guy's face confirmed it. Sam grinned.

"Sam, think about this..."

"I don't need to think about anything." Sam grabbed the desk clerk by his shirt collar. "Send me back. I want to be back with my brother!"

A bright, white light flooded Sam's vision and he felt like he was being sucked back into a vortex before he impacted with something hard. "Dean?" he managed to gasp before he passed out.

--

Something heavy was laying across his chest and pinning Dean to the floor. The last thing he remembered was grabbing creepy Al and demanding his brother back. That thing must have gotten the jump on him somehow. He had a goose egg on the back of his head that thudded with each beat of his heart and he was sure there were new bruises on top of the old bruises on his chest. A pained groan came from the form sprawled over him and Dean's eyes snapped open.

"Sam?" He tried to sit up, but Sam was dead weight. Sam groaned again. "Sammy, get your heavy ass the hell off of me." Dean shoved at his brother. He couldn't assess Sam's injuries from this position.

"Dean?" Sam lifted his head, but he couldn't get his eyes to focus, everything was blurry.

"The one and only and if you don't move I'm gonna start thinking you've got an inappropriate crush on me." Dean smirked at Sam, who finally seemed able to appreciate it. "And, Dude, that just wouldn't be normal."

"Asshole," Sam grumbled, but he couldn't help grinning. He elbowed himself off of Dean, making sure he got a good dig in his brother's ribs.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean yelped and sat up. He rubbed his side and glared. "Maybe I should have Al send you back into oblivion, ungrateful brat."

"Nah, you'd miss my sunny personality too much." Sam couldn't stop grinning. He was going to have to make himself take it down a notch though, he could practically see the 'giddy school girl' comment forming itself in Dean's brain.

Dean returned Sam's smile. He reached out and affectionately cuffed Sam in the back of the head. "Maybe for a few minutes."

"Sam needs to stay here," Al interrupted the brotherly moment. "It's not too late to change your mind. If it's that important to you then you can both stay."

"Wow." Dean raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at his brother. "What do you say, Sammy? You, me, and this shithole all to ourselves." Dean swung around to face Al, as if a very important question had just occurred to him. "Hey, do you get porn in the middle of nowhere?"

"It would never work, Dean, we would kill each other within a day." Sam shook his head. "You would be an unbearable asshole without any demons to kill."

"Not if I've got porn," Dean protested.

"Especially if you've got porn. If I were stuck in that place with just you and porn, I'd have to put myself out of my misery." Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean shrugged at Al. "Sorry, Dude, guess that's a no go. Thanks for the hospitality, but we'll be leaving now." Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and they turned to leave.

"Wait." Al pressed his fingers into his eyes and sighed. He looked up and his eyes had turned into inky black orbs. "If you won't accept my help by staying here, then accept this - you'll find some background information on your demon with this." Al picked the nameplate up from the desk and tossed it at Dean.

Dean caught the nameplate and frowned, but before either brother could voice a question, Al dissolved into thick black smoke and swirled away. Dean pocketed the nameplate. "Sam..."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Sam finished Dean's thought.

"And we're not stopping until we find a crowded Holiday Inn - the more screeching, screaming kids the better." Dean followed his brother out of the office. He couldn't get the Impala packed up and back out onto the highway fast enough.

Continued in the Epilogue


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue 

It was a few days later while doing laundry that Sam found the nameplate bundled in Dean's dirty clothes. He remembered then his brother stuffing it into his duffle and obviously they had both promptly forgot about it. It was an ordinary brassplated nameplate with 'Al Smith' engraved in its shiny surface. Sam turned it over in his hands thoughtfully. It didn't look like it had any answers about the demon that had so thoroughy ruined his and his family's lives.

"Hey, Sam, you forgot the fabric softener. You know how scratchy clothes irritate my skin." Dean walked into the laundry room of the motel. This town had been too small for a Holiday Inn, so they had been forced to go back to their old ways, but not without checking the place out first. Sam was sure that they were going to end up in jail for stalking the desk clerk before they had even checked in, but when they had watched the middle-aged woman buying feminine products at the local drugstore, Dean had decided that she wasn't a demon plotting to safehouse them in another dimension.

"What do you think this was about?" Sam gestured at Dean with the nameplate.

"I don't know." Dean shrugged. He started sorting through the laundry with a frown. "Stupid demon game to throw us off." He picked a blood spattered t-shirt out of the pile. "Sam, you can't do laundry worth crap. You have to soak this in cold water first. Didn't they teach you anything at college?"

"I skipped Advanced Laundry Techniques seeing as how I didn't own many blood spattered clothes while I was there and before then you always did my laundry." Sam's face was the one that wore the smirk for once. "I'm going to check this out anyway now that you're here to take over."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head as he watched his little brother skip out on the chores. He really was too lenient with the little shit. "Next time, I'll show you how this done right and then you will be on laundry duty for a month," he muttered to himself as he resorted the clothes. Honestly, had Sam done this with his eyes closed - some of these stains were not going to come out without some extra attention.

"Dean!" Sam came barrelling into the laundry room just as Dean was adding the fabric softener to the first load. "Dean, I found something."

"Really? What did you do? Look up Al the Demon on the internet?"

That took the wind out of Sam's sails as he stopped and his face fell. "Well, basically, yeah."

"So, what did you find?" Dean gave Sam his undivided attention. "Is our friend Al some sort of enemy of the fire demon?"

"No, I don't think our friend was Al." Sam took a deep breath and met Dean's eyes. "Al is an Armenian demon made of fire. He was supposed to be a companion for Adam, but they weren't compatible, so God made Eve..."

"Good call on God's part - fire demon, naked chick." Dean held out his hands like a scale and clearly tipped in the naked chick's direction.

Sam glared at the interruption. "Anyway, Al was infuriated with being replaced and jealous of Eve so he's been out to destroy women ever since. He attacks pregnant women and sometimes steals newborns up to seven months of age. Dean, this could be him."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so, Sam, it didn't say anything about sacrificing the mother and what about Jess? She wouldn't fit into that scenario at all, unless..."

"No, Jess wasn't pregnant." Sam looked down at the floor. "But if Al isn't the demon, then why did the desk clerk tell us this would help?"

"I don't know, Sam. Demons lie." Dean grasped his brother's shoulder. "Maybe Al isn't our guy, but part of the same happy demon family. We won't abandon this lead, Sam, we just need some more information."

Sam nodded, taking comfort in his brother's words. "Thanks, Dean."

"Oh, well, you won't be saying those words after you hear what I've got in store for you." Dean pushed Sam toward the washing machine. "Today, dear brother, is the day I teach you Advanced Laundry Techniques so you can't punk out on it anymore." Dean laughed as his brother groaned.

--

The motel room was quiet in the early morning hours, but unfortunately Sam was awake. He curled up on his side and burrowed under the covers. His insomnia had gotten even worse since he had been abducted by the demon. He would fall asleep for only a few minutes before abruptly waking up to make sure that Dean was still in the bed across from him. And for the first time ever, Dean seemed to be having the same problem. This was the first night, though that Dean had fallen asleep immediately and was still softly snoring. Sam grinned. It must have been the arduious job of teaching his younger brother the fine art of doing laundry. If there was one thing he was grateful to their demon friend for, it was that things between he and his brother were back to normal. He wasn't going to let anything seperate him from his brother again. The cell phone on the nightstand rang, interrupting Sam's thoughts of solidarity. "Dean," he called, but there was no response. Sam reached out and answered the phone. "Hello." He sat up at the sound of the other person's voice. "Dad."

The end.

A/N: I know that in the episode it looks like Sam and Dean went to their motel room after the events in the asylum for some much needed rest and then got the phone call from their father, but if you look at the start of 'Scarecrow' (and I know you did) Dean doesn't have any wounds on his chest, so I'm going with the theory that the phone call took place some time after asylum and that is where this story fits in.  
Thank you to everyone who has read this and enjoyed it and a big special thank you to those of you who have reviewed. I hope the ending met with your expectations.

S


End file.
